The American
by CptScarlett
Summary: When American Alana Reynolds comes to Broadchurch, Alec Hardy is in for more than he expected. (Warning: Referenced Suicide & Miscarriage)
1. Chapter 1

"Who's that, then?" Alec said, motioning towards a woman who sat on a bench opposite them several hundred yards away. He sat on the bench next to Miller, she in her bright orange jacket, he in his oversized overcoat—both were exhausted from the Trish Winterman trial, and a bit uncomfortable at how close to home the case had come. Both Tom and Daisy had been impacted by people involved in this one.

"Once again, you're determined to believe I must know everyone in Broadchurch," Ellie said as she rolled her eyes.

"This time I think I'm right—who is she?"

"I've never met her, thank you very much—but I do know _of_ her," she responded, both of them looking at the woman. They were far enough away, she'd not notice, plus she was too busy looking out over the cliffs.

"Ah, but I _was_ right then."

"She's an American, just moved here a week ago."

"American? Why'd she move to _Broadchurch_?"

"It is a rather beautiful place, you know. Nice people, too—generally speaking."

"Yeah—right," Alec responded, taking a close look at her. "But really—America's a big place—why move to England? Much less to Broadchurch?"

"I've not heard the details, just that she had some tragedy in her life there."

They were both quiet a moment, and Alec continued to observe the woman. She wore blue jeans and an oversized cream colored jumper. Her boots indicated perhaps she had planned to go for a hike later, unless, he considered, that perhaps she was wearing them in the hopes to be fashionable. If there was one thing he had learned from his teenage daughter, it was that women tended to wear things for all the wrong reasons.

He wasn't all together sure why, upon saying goodbye to Miller, he headed the opposite direction of the car park, towards the American woman. Not that he was necessarily headed _towards_ her, he told himself, just that general direction. It was nice weather, perhaps a stroll down the sea wall and some fresh air would do his mind and his body good before he went back home to Daisy. He was walking along, considering his own actions, paying more attention to the ground in front of him than what, or who, was ahead of him, when suddenly he ran right into someone. The American.

"Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," he said apologetically. He quickly glanced to see that she held in her hands a brochure, and from the look of the pictures, it was about the cliffs.

She glanced at him, and back down bashfully, her cheeks red. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have been standing here, reading, in the middle of the walkway."

He smiled at her American accent, it was definitely a change from the typical around here. It was—refreshing—in a way.

"No harm done." He glanced at the brochure, and back to her. "New here?" He knew the answer, of course, but it seemed like the appropriate way to make friendly conversation. _Since when did he make friendly conversation? _

"Yes, I am. I suppose I look like something of a tourist, don't I? But I've just moved here. From the US. I suppose that's pretty obvious, too, isn't it?"

"Your accent does give you away a bit, yes. Have you visited here before?" he asked as he motioned for them to step towards the railing for a closer view of the cliffs.

"No," she said as she looked down awkardly. "I suppose that seems silly too, doesn't it? Moving somewhere you've never visited?"

"You do a lot of 'supposing', Miss—?" he asked, hoping to finally reveal the mystery of her name.

"Mrs. Alana Reynolds," she answered, holding her hand out.

He shook his head. "I'm Alec Hardy. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds." He released her hand then, but continued. "So, you're married then?" _Married? Awfully straight forward of you, Hardy! What are you playing at?_ he thought to himself.

"Oh…," she said, looking downcast again. "I, um, I was. I was married."

"Sorry, none of my business, I shouldn't have asked anyway." Alec glanced at his watch, then back up. "Sorry, I've got to get going. My daughter will be getting home soon and I promised her we'd have dinner together. Again, it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hardy."


	2. Chapter 2

"Yes, Mom, I'm doing fine here. I've met some very nice people." Lana sighed as she listened to her mother. "Yes, Mom, I do still remember that you didn't approve of me moving away. I know, I'm very far away, but you're fine. Jack is there and he'll take good care of you." She listened a few more moments. "I'm sorry mom, I've got to go now. I love you too, yup, bye." Another sigh as she slipped the phone into her crossbody purse and sat down on the steps she had just come to during her walk.

"Twice in two days. We do seem to keep running into each other, don't we?" a voice behind her called out. She turned and saw Alec Hardy standing there.

"Mr. Hardy, yes, we do. But at least this time it wasn't as literal as it was yesterday. What are you doing in these parts."

"I work here, you?"

"Just taking a walk, doing a little exploring." She glanced back and he couldn't help but notice that her face went pale. "You work at the police department?"

"Aye, I do. I'm a detective inspector."

"You…you're a cop?"

"Yes, I am." He paused, waiting for her to say more, but she only stared down at the ground in front of her, so he thought he'd try to pull her back out of whatever train of thought she'd gone down. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I, um, I'm a writer. Well, that is, I'm trying to be one."

"What kind of writer?" Hardy asked, a sense of dread coming over him. "A journalist?"

"No, no—though at one time I thought that might be what I ended up doing. No, I write fiction these days. Well, at least I will when I start writing again. It's been a while"

"So you are a writer, were a writer, or are going to be a writer? Which is it?"

She frowned, clearly flustered. "Was, am, will be—what does it matter anyway?" She stood quickly, making her a few inches taller as he had moved to the bottom of the stairs as they talked. It caught him off guard momentarily and she was already starting to walk away when she spoke again. "I should go. Goodbye, Mr. Hardy."

"I'm sorry, have I said something to offend you?"

"No, no, of course not. I just—I should go."

* * *

"You're not going to believe what I just found out, Hardy."

"Oh?" Hardy said as he looked over the reports on his desk, not looking up at his partner who stood in his doorway. "If I'm going to find it so unbelievable, why even bother to tell me?" he asked, hoping she'd bugger off and leaving him to finish up this undesirable task.

"Don't be a knob. It's about that American we saw down at the sea wall the other day."

That got Hardy's attention, just yesterday he'd encountered the same woman, and had been mystified by her suddenly cold behavior towards him. He'd been on his best behavior with her, hadn't even been his normal grumpy self—yet she seemed content to turn and walk away as if he'd offended her. He looked up over the top of his glasses. "Oh? What have you found out about her?" he asked, attempting to look only half curious.

"I found out what the tragedy was that brought her here. Seems her husband was a policeman…"

"Was?"

"Yes, well, from what the papers say, he was an undercover cop and got involved with some shady dealings. He was put under investigation and just before it was rumored he was going to be fired—he shot himself."

Hardy felt his gut drop. No wonder she'd had such an aversion to finding out his job. "That's terrible."

"Yeah—apparently she's the one that found him—in their home."

* * *

He couldn't believe he was doing this. But here he was. He'd felt compelled, so he did a little quiet checking around and found out the address of the new American woman.

Now, he stood at the door to her cottage, which, as luck would have it, was just a very short walk from his own.

He hadn't knocked yet. He still wasn't sure if he should be doing this. But something about her story compelled him. He finally raised his hand and knocked.

It took several long minutes before he saw the curtain move at the bay window near the door, then heard the latch being pulled and the door finally opened. "Mr. Hardy, is there something I can help you with?" she asked, frowning as she looked him over and saw the large potted plant in his hand.

"I've, um, I've brought you a housewarming gift—-as a welcome to Broadchurch."

"You brought me a…plant?"

"Yes," he said, holding out the pot. "I did."

"You really didn't have to do that."

"I know how difficult it can be in a small town—especially Broadchurch—coming in, the new person, trying to make friends, when everyone already knows everyone and you're the odd man out."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Yes—and…well, I got the feeling the other day that perhaps I did something to offend you, and well—I wanted to apologize for…well, for whatever it might have been."

She sighed, looking away guiltily. "It wasn't anything you did."

"Perhaps not," he said, looking at her sadly. "Perhaps it's what I _do_ rather than something I've _done."_

She looked up at him now and frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that…well, I've heard what happened—"

He saw her whole body tense. "Oh isn't that wonderful, I can't even escape it here. I thought that perhaps crossing an ocean might give me a bit of space, some fresh air to breath that wasn't stifled by the supposed guilt of my husband. He's been gone over a year and I can't escape him, no matter how far I go, no matter how much time passes…as if I…as if I haven't lost enough, God seems determined that I must suffer some sort of punishment for a guilt that wasn't even his to bear—shouldn't God know he was innocent? Why must _I_ continue to suffer." The bitterness in her voice and force of her tirade left Hardy staring wide-eyed, unsure of what to say. Then, she shoved the plant back into his chest. "No thank you, Mr. Hardy, I don't need your gifts of pity. Please go and leave me be." And with that, the door was slammed in his face.

He stood there, in shock, for a moment, eyes blinking as he stared at the closed door again. Then, in a move that shocked even him, he set the plant down by the door, stood back up straight, and knocked again. With no answer, he took a deep breath and knocked again. Still no answer. "I'm just going to be sitting out here on your patio, when you decide to stop making assumptions and let me speak," he said loud enough to be sure she could hear it on the other side of the door. If he was correct, she hadn't gone far.

He turned and found a chair by a small patio table and made himself as comfortable as possible, looking out over the cliffs. He'd felt the bitterness she was feeling. He'd taken on someone else's guilt as his own before and lived through the judgmental stares and opinions of others. If anyone could understand her, it was him. A few minutes later he heard the door quietly open and saw out of the corner of his eye as she came and sat down in the chair opposite his at the table. She stared out at the cliffs as well.

He decided to start speaking first, in case he didn't have much chance to once she decided to lay into him again.

"I really don't know much about what happened. My partner came upon a few news articles when her combined investigative prowess, desire to be everyone's friend, and her nosiness, all got the best of her. I can tell you, Mrs. Reynolds, that I know all there is to know about the crap reporting of newspaper journalists who will spin a tale however they see fit, whether the truth is in it or not, to sell more papers. I've been in their firing line plenty of times. Knowing, and believing, what you say to be true, it irritates me to no end to know that they did you and your husband wrong—and that he couldn't bear the burden."

He paused but she remained quiet, so he continued.

"When I was in my deepest darkest pit of despair, it was my partner, Ellie—the nosy one I mentioned—who helped me out. She believed in me, believed my story, and helped me solve the case that had almost killed me—quite literally. I've the pacemaker in my chest to prove it…Sometimes, Mrs. Reynolds, we just need—we just need someone to listen. We need someone to believe us, to believe in us. I think I might be going off the deep end here, but I'm going to just come out and say it—I'd like to listen, and I promise I'll believe you." He paused for a breath and was about to speak again when her quiet voice stopped him.

"Why? Why would you do that?"

He turned and looked straight at her. "Because you deserve to be heard, you deserve to be believed."

He watched as her face melted and she began to sob. And there, sitting on her patio, only a few feet and a table separating them, he reached across the table and took her hand that rested there. He held her hand as she sobbed.

He couldn't explain the bond he felt to this woman—born out of the unfairness of the mistreatment they'd both received, and out of some still yet mysterious attraction that he couldn't quite explain.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Alana Richards had calmed down, Hardy left soon after, having given her his private cell phone number with instructions to call him if she needed anything. She'd returned the favor and given him her own phone number and he promised he'd be in touch sooner than later.

He'd felt the sort of helplessness he saw in her eyes that day, the bitterness, resentment—he'd felt it all. And at this moment he was determined to help this woman—practically a stranger to him—get beyond it.

The next day he'd gotten off work and checked his phone to find a text.

_Got a few minutes to chat?_ As soon as he got home, he called her and began listening.

"You know who I'm angry with—more than the dirty cops who threw him under the bus, more than the journalists, more than the jerks who said the cruelest things, some of them my family—you know who I'm angry with?"

"Who?" he said, listening to her as he laid stretched out on his couch.

"Him. Why did he have to give up? Why'd he have to leave me all alone? I'm so angry with him."

Hardy closed his eyes and imagined her somewhere in her home, most likely curled up on the couch he'd just barely gotten a glance of through her front door. "You're not alone anymore."

"Yeah, well, this weird friendship born of shared bitterness isn't exactly the same, Hardy."

"Yes well, be that as it may, my statement still stands."

She sighed. "Yeah, I know. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was quiet a moment. Then she dropped the real bomb.

"I was pregnant."

"What?" His eyes flew open and he sat up straight out of reflex.

"When it happened. When he killed himself. We'd been trying for three years on and off, when he wasn't on undercover assignments. Doctors said it was stress that kept me from getting pregnant—the worry over his dangerous assignments. But then, in the midst of all the crap we were going through with the investigation, one day it finally happened. I got pregnant."

Hardy was quiet. He bent over, knees pressing into his elbows, and held his head up with one hand, the other holding the phone to his ear. He was speechless, his heart was breaking, and his own anger towards the man who had left this remarkable woman was growing. Without knowing what to say, he waited for her to tell him the rest when she was ready.

"Just days after I found him, I miscarried. As if it weren't enough to lose him. He took away our baby, too. I _hate_ him." Her voice had grown hoarse and trembled with emotion.

He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his free hand. "I'm so sorry, Alana…" He considered the situation, and her emotional state. "Would you…would you like me to come over?"

"No. There's no point."

"Sure there is. If you need someone, that's enough of a point. I can come."

"No. Don't." He heard her sniffle and sigh. "I should go now. I'm sorry I bothered you with all this.

"You're not a bother, Alana."

"Yes well… bye."

She'd hung up before he could respond. He stared at his phone a moment before doing some even crazier than his actions of the last few days. He jumped up and quickly slipped on his shoes. The walk to her cottage from his took exactly eight minutes. When he knocked it took her much less time to get to the door this time. She opened it only a few inches and looked out at him.

"I told you not to come."

"I know what you said. I came anyway."

Without another word, she opened the door wider and let him in. He stepped through equally as quiet before she closed the door back. As soon as it latched he gently grabbed hold of one of her arms and pulled her into his embrace. He knew it could get him slapped, punched, or worse, but it just seemed like the right thing…the only thing…he could do in that moment. There really were no words to be said that could heal the hurt she felt. There was a hesitant moment in which he thought she might fight it, and he'd have understood. But then, she seemed to relax into his embrace. So he held her, standing there in the middle of her living room he held her close and she wept. It was several minutes before he shifted and walked her over to the couch where a blanket lay tousled. As he'd guessed, she'd been curled up under it when they talked. He pulled her down with him, adjusting his arm to be around her as they sat on the couch, and leaned over to pull the blanket up over her.

"Hardy…you, um…you don't have to…"

"Ssh, just hush and come here," he said, his Scottish brogue going deep as he admonished her and gently tugged her into the nook of his side. She hesitantly allowed herself to lean into him, and then after a moment, relaxed into his side. It was only a moment longer before he felt as much as heard the tears start again. Her body trembled and he wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders. "Cry as much as you need to. There's no shame in tears. And you have a right to feel whatever emotion you have right now—they're all justified, if you ask me. So if crying is what you need, then go ahead." He glanced over to see a box of tissues on the side table and grabbed it with his free hand and passed it to her.

A little while later, her breathing had calmed to the point that Hardy thought she might have fallen asleep. At some point, her hand had come to rest on his chest just above his heart and pacemaker. It wasn't till that moment that he considered the position he was in at this moment—both literally and figuratively. He sighed. He wanted desperately to pretend he was just being a good friend with Alana Reynolds. He wanted to pretend he wasn't quickly falling for her. The question was, how long was he going to be able to pretend? Why was he doing this to himself? Then, he started to feel guilty. Why was he doing this to _her_. It was inevitable. All he'd do was hurt her. And she'd been hurt enough.

She stirred. He could tell she was waking as she shifted around then suddenly went stiff. She slowly lifted her head and looked up at him. "This is a bit embarrassing."

"It doesn't have to didn't do anything I didn't invite."

Instead of pulling away, she leaned just the tiniest bit closer. "Hardy…Alec—I—"

"Alana," he started to say more, but she quickly leaned in and kissed him. Or had he leaned forward and kissed her? It all felt a blur as his brain short circuited in the moment.

But it was only a moment. She pulled back and slid across the couch to the opposite corner in one deft move.

"I'm sorry," they both said in unison. Both staring ahead as they straightened themselves.

"I should…I should go," Alec said as he stood quickly, ignoring the thumping in his chest as he left without waiting on a response from her.

* * *

For several days Alec ignored the aching desire to reach back out to Alana. To see how she was doing. He'd gone too far and now, after that kiss and the swarm of emotions he'd felt afterward, he knew he had to back up.

He was back out at the sea wall, overlooking the cliffs, the very spot he'd first met Alana Reynolds. He shouldn't be here, shouldn't be thinking about her, he should be working, that's what he always did to ignore his feelings and escape from the reality of his loneliness, wasn't it?

He was obviously distracted, as he didn't notice her presence till he heard her voice. "So that's it, is it? One mistake and I've ruined our friendship for good?"

He turned quickly and spotted her. She looked rough. Blue jeans and an oversized hoodie sweatshirt with some school logo emblazoned across the front. The hood was up over her head, shadowing her face, but he could see her bloodshot eyes. He swallowed hard. "Alana, I-" It was all he could seem to get out in that moment as he looked at her sad state.

"It's okay, I understand. I'm broken, screwed up, who'd want to take that on? You tried to be helpful, I'm really thankful for the time we had. Thank you for listening. But I screwed up. I was in the moment and I just…I just did it. And now I've ruined it." She had turned and started to walk away before Alec could argue.

Finally, he launched himself forward as he spoke. "It's not you who has ruined things, Alana."

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "What do you mean?"

"Just that—I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I promise I just meant to be there for you as a friend, to be a listening ear, to help you through this as best I could, as someone who understood. I didn't mean to—"

She turned around, the hood falling away from her head as she did so. Something about seeing her face fully, the vulnerability of her expression, made his inhale quickly. "You didn't mean to kiss me?"

"Correct."

"But I kissed you."

He dared to step closer to her. "I'm fairly certain it was a two-way street, Alana. You weren't alone in that particular show of affection," he said quietly as he moved closer to maintain the privacy of their conversation. "And if I remember correctly, which I'm certain I do as I've replayed that evening in my head multiple times every day since, it was I who insisted I'd hold you while you cried."

"So…it was…mutual."

"Aye, except I feel as though I took advantage of your weakened emotional state, and that was terribly wrong of me." She maintained her gaze, eyes not leaving his. He exhaled, still feeling guilt on his chest. "Look at you, even now you're still crying…," he said, hand starting to reach up to her cheek but stopping himself.

"Yeah, except it's not him I've been crying over this time…"

"What—who—who then?"

Her eyebrow slowly raised. "Alec…I—you—we _kissed_…and then you ran out and I haven't heard from you in four days. Who the heck do you think I'm crying about? Maybe it wasn't as memorable for you, but-"

"Oh, I remember it…"

"But you didn't want it? First you said you didn't mean to kiss me. Then you just said it was a two-way street. And I—I'm confused."

Hardy sighed. "It's not that I didn't want to kiss you. But I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to cross that line. I—I don't want to hurt you, Alana."

"So walking out and avoiding me for four days is _not hurting _me?"

"Yes, it is."

"Come again? I don't quite understand your math on this."

"A little hurt now will save you a lot of hurt in the long run."

"And how exactly would you hurt me in the long run?" she asked with a scowl on her face.

"I'm rubbish at relationships, Alana. I can barely hold down a friendship much less…" He grew flustered as he considered his own feelings. "Well, much less anything more than that."

"What are you talking about, Alec? I mean—sorry, Hardy—what are you talking about, Hardy? You were doing a fantastic job of being a friend to me. You introduced yourself to a stranger and made me feel less bad for standing in the middle of the walkway for you to run into. You brought me a welcome gift because you felt bad about _my _reaction to your vocation. I was the one who acted foolish when I found out you were a cop. And you didn't give up when I slammed the door in your face. And you listened to me vent, and you…you held me when I broke down over old wounds."

"You lost your husband and a child, Alana—those are wounds that you deserve to still be upset over."

"See? _That_—that is friendship, that is care—_that_ is lo—" She stopped herself from saying the word. "Well, all I mean to say is—you seem quite good at relationships to me, Alec Hardy. Not at all rubbish."

"You haven't seen me at my worst, Alana. Lucky for you, you seem to have brought out the best in me lately. But it's only a matter of time. I'm a grumpy old man and I inevitably would say or do something to hurt you."

"Oh, I see—so you're allowed to care about, listen to, and take care of other people's needs and concerns. But no one is allowed to be there for you?"

"What are you talking about?"

She reached out and placed her hand gently on his chest, right over his heart. "People who care about each other…they do just that—it isn't one sided, Hardy. They care for each other, when one is down, hurting, angry, frustrated—grumpy—the other takes care of them, helps them through it. And visa versa. I've done my own bit of research in the past four days. As far as I can see, what you've been through—well, maybe you deserve to be a little grumpy sometimes. But you also need someone to tell you when to snap out of it. We all do."

"You don't want to be that person."

"Don't you think I should make that decision for myself?"

He stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to handle this American woman who'd swooped into his life and taken residence.

He remained silent, so she spoke again. "I'm not asking for a marriage proposal, Hardy. Not even for a date, or even another kiss. Maybe our 'weakened emotional state' did get the better of both of us that night. But don't avoid me. Don't walk away. Let's get to know each other some more. Let's be friends. Let _me_ be _your _friend, Hardy."


	4. Chapter 4

_"I'm not asking for a marriage proposal, Hardy. Not even for a date, or even another kiss. Maybe our 'weakened emotional state' did get the better of both of us that night. But don't avoid me. Don't walk away. Let's get to know each other some more. Let's be friends. Let me be your friend, Hardy."_

* * *

Alana Reynolds hadn't expected anything like this to happen when she moved to Broadchurch. In fact, she'd hoped that in the small town she might make a few friends and avoid even the possibility of romantic interlude. But now, she found herself lying to the person who'd she had formed the deepest closest connection to since moving here just a few weeks earlier. Lying because while she did want to be friends with him, she really did want to kiss Alec Hardy again. But if he was that concerned, she'd have to push those feelings away, because she did _not_ want him avoiding her again.

"Friends?" he asked, after considering her suggestion for a moment.

She nodded. "Friends."

"I told you, I don't even do friendship very well—just ask my partner, Miller—"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine—then you'll be my crappy friend that I put up with because I feel sorry for you. Does that satisfy your need for self-deprecation?" He stared at her, somewhat in shock and she glared right back at him. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Hardy."

He sighed. "Fine, alright, friends."

She smiled. "Good then. As a friend I am asking you over for dinner tonight"

"Dinner?"

Again, she had to roll her eyes. "Yes, Hardy—keep up—dinner, at my place. So we can see if this friendship can get beyond our tragic pasts and into other things. Will you come over for dinner tonight?"

"No."

Her heart sank. "Oh."

Hardy seemed to mentally back track, seeing her whole countenance fall at his response, and realized how short he'd been. "No, I mean—I can't—I've already made plans for dinner with my daughter tonight. But—another time maybe."

"Oh, right, okay. Another time."

"Right, well—I should get going. Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

Hardy could tell that Alana had been disappointed by him turning down her offer. Now, as he sat with his daughter at their kitchen table he realized he could have—should have—invited her to have dinner with them. Would that have been too much? Too much for a friend? Too quick? Would Daisy like Alana, he wondered?

"Dad, have you been listening to a word I've said?" Daisy scoffed at her father.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Of course, I was."

"No, you weren't. You didn't hear a word I said. What are you thinking about, anyway?"

Hardy took another bite of food from his plate and waited till he'd fully chewed and swallowed before answering. "Oh, I was just thinking—there's this American who's moved to Broadchurch…"

"And?"

"Well, she had—"

"Wait, it's a girl?"

"Well—a woman, I'd approximate. A _few_ years younger than me, perhaps."

"A woman—you're interested in someone?"

Alec scoffed. "What? I didn't say that!"

"Maybe not, but you were distracted all through dinner, Dad. You were thinking about her weren't you?"

"It's not like that, Daisy—we're just friends. She went through quite a tragedy. Her husband was a cop and he committed suicide after being put under investigation for things he didn't do."

"Oh." Daisy looked down at her almost empty plate as she realized the connection.

"She seemed like she could maybe use a friend who could be understanding."

Daisy had looked back at her father and watched him as he took another bite. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he said, paying more attention to his plate than this daughter's face at that moment, knowing she was trying to read him.

Daisy was quiet for a moment, before she stood with her empty plate and carried it to the sink. "Chloe's mom is coming to pick me up so we can study for the test together. I thought I'd just sleep over there tonight if that's okay?"

"Sure, if Beth's alright with it."

"You should call your friend."

"Daisy!"

"I'm just saying, Dad."

* * *

A half hour later and Alec had watched his daughter hop into Beth Latimer's car and ensured she was alright with the girls' plan for a sleepover. After the car had pulled away he plopped down into a chair on the patio out front of his cottage and looked out over the hill. He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping it against his knee a moment as he considered his daughters words.

Moments later, the phone was to his ear and was ringing through.

"Hello."

"Ah, hello—Alana?"

"Yes, Alec? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?"

"You're calling me. I'm just a bit surprised."

"Do you drink beer?"

"Not—not really. Why?"

"Oh, okay."

"Were you inviting me out for a beer, Hardy?"

"Not out—I don't go…_out_."

He heard her chuckle quietly over the phone. "What exactly is your point then?"

"It's just, Daisy's gone to her friends to study and sleepover, and I thought you could come over, and we could… I don't know… talk? Or… whatever. Nevermind, it was a bad idea."

"I drink wine. I'll bring my own bottle. Text me your address, I'll be right over."

* * *

Almost two hours later and both Hardy and Alana had gone through several glasses of their preferred alcoholic beverage. They'd been intently chatting about one topic or another, Hardy happy to allow Alana to guide the conversation as he was certain his own conversational skills would drag the conversation to a halt. Give him an interrogation any day and he'd thrive. Friendly conversation with a woman he was doing his best to deny attraction to, his head was a jumbled mess. He realized now the alcohol was quite possibly a bad idea.

After a few moments of companionable silence, sitting on opposite ends of the couch but turned towards each other with arms slung across the back, Alana took the last sip of wine from her glass and sighed. "I should call the taxi and get home. It's getting late and I should get to bed and sleep off this wine. It's been quite some time since I had this much."

"You're not far—I could walk you home."

"Oh come on now, Hardy. That's not fair—no acting chivalrous."

"Not fair?"

He was sure he saw her blush before she cleared her throat and stood up from the couch. "Nevermind…. Really, I'll just call the taxi." She pulled her phone out of the pocket of the oversized hoodie sweatshirt she had worn.

She was scrolling through the contacts when he stood and took one step closer. "Stop." Her hand froze over the number she was about to tap. "Let me walk you home, Alana. It's silly to call a taxi when you live so close."

"It's a half mile up the road, Hardy."

"You too drunk to walk a klick?"

She turned and raised an eyebrow at him, hearing the challenge in his tone. "I didn't say that."

"Then let's go." He nodded his head towards the door.

* * *

They'd walked in silence for quite a while, then made small talk for a while, and had almost made it to her house when she asked, "How could anyone dislike this beautiful town?"

Hardy huffed out a laugh. "I presume when you say 'anyone' you are referring to me?"

"You said you couldn't stand this town when you moved here. I don't understand how anyone could hate such a gorgeous place with such nice people."

"I told you, I was a very different person then."

"Still cranky."

"Perhaps."

"Grumpy. Cynical."

"Okay, okay. I get it. Maybe I haven't changed that much. But, Broadchurch has grown on me."

"I visited Broadchurch years ago, before I ever got married. And after everything went down, when I needed to escape, I knew this is where I wanted to live."

Hardy waited a beat before deciding to say what he was thinking. "I'm glad you did."

Alana smiled, glancing at him out the corner of her eye. "Yeah, me too."

Hardy grew quiet again as he saw her house getting closer. Perhaps walking her home while moderately inebriated wasn't the best idea. Not that he wasn't in complete control of his faculties, he told himself—he just seemed to be doing less thinking before speaking than usual.

Soon they'd made it to her doorstep. "Thanks for walking me home, Hardy. I promise I won't tell anyone what a gallant knight you are, rescuing me from paying for a taxi."

"Yes, well, see that you don't. It'd do my reputation too much good." He smirked a moment, and at her smile found himself growing ever so slightly braver. Oh. This was going to be trouble.

"And thank you for inviting me over for a drink. It was nice."

"It was."

"So…I guess I'll see you around?"

"Aye, I'll see you around."

"Okay then."

She'd just glanced down as she pulled her house key out of her pocket when he stepped forward, resting his hand on her shoulder and leaning in, placing a kiss directly on her lips. He stayed there a moment—long enough for her to start to react. But just as she did, he pulled back.

"I—I—I'm so sorry," he stuttered as he took a step back.

"You—that was you—"

"Y-yes, yes, it was," he stuttered as he looked anywhere but her. This had been a very very bad idea. Why had he convinced himself he could be friends with Alana Reynolds?

"It wasn't me. I didn't start that—you did."

"I'm so, so sorry."

She sighed and shook her head. "You think one day you might be able to kiss me without regretting it and apologizing afterward?" Her voice was quiet, and he heard it crack under emotional strain. He couldn't look her in the eyes, he just couldn't. "I…I need to go inside now," she turned her back on him just as he gained the courage to look up at her, and she and was in her house with the door closed behind her before Hardy could even start to put two more words together.


	5. Chapter 5

Alana put on her best smile as she took a deep breath and entered the Wessex Police building.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Yes, I've got an appointment scheduled with DI Alec Hardy. He told me to come directly to his office, only he didn't give very clear instructions as to where that was." She rolled her eyes, hoping this was going to work. "You know how he is. Could you possibly direct me to the proper place?"

"Right this way, ma'am."

* * *

"DI Hardy, your 2 o'clock appointment is here."

"What?" she heard Hardy bark from inside the office and stepped in to answer his as-of-yet question. He had no 2 o'clock apartment. And she was sure that she was going to be the last person he expected to see. But desperate times called for desperate measures. "I don't have a—" Yup, seeing her shut him up. His eyes went wide at her presence in his office. "Oh, yes, that'll be all Ferris."

As the young man left, Alana turned away from Alec to close the door behind her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as he stood, before she'd turned back around.

She paused, her hand still on the doorknob. This was a bad decision. A risky one. He could kick her out. He could invoke the full Hardy wrath upon her. She had come into his territory in the middle of work the day after he'd run off—again. But she wasn't letting four days go by this time. She felt like a gutsy, risky move was all she had left with Alec Hardy.

She turned back around to face him, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'm _here_ to see you, Hardy."

"That's rather obvious. But why?"

"I stopped by your house. You weren't there. You said you weren't coming into work today. It's why you let yourself drink last night." She stepped forward slowly as she spoke. "If you're not at home, and not at the sea wall moping about, this is the only other place I knew to look—the only other place I figured you could be. I took a chance." She glanced at his disheveled appearance, sure he could tell she was giving him a long hard look. "Are you running away from something, Hardy?"

"Wh-what are you talking about?" She saw him swallow hard and glance at the window that overlooked the rest of his team. She had already looked to be sure all the blinds were closed.

She spoke in hushed tones as she continued to approach, stopping only once she was close enough that she could have reached out and touched him. "This might be one of the craziest things I've ever done—aside from moving half way across the world to a town where I knew no one. But I'm going to say what I need to say and then I'll walk away and leave you to bury yourself in your work." She paused and gave him a sad smile. "Hardy…Alec…yesterday I tried to convince myself…and you…that we could just be friends. But I think if last night proved anything to both of us it's that neither of us is quite capable of that."

"Neither—neither of us?" He repeated her words in question.

"You may have initiated that goodnight kiss this time—but had you given me a split second more timed you'd have found me quite happily reciprocating. We're two grown adults, I think it's time for us to stop denying we're attracted to each other. Not to say that our friendship ends where—whatever this could become—begins, but denying it only seems to be making things worse." She took a chance and reached out, taking his hand in hers and stepping toe to toe with him and spoke just above a whisper. "I know—I know it's terrifying to think of trusting someone again, of allowing someone to trust you. You're so worried that you're going to hurt someone that you go around doing the very thing you're afraid of. By distancing yourself, Hardy, you're only hurting people who want to care about you. I think deep down, under the rough, cynical, grumpy exterior that you built up for yourself after your past experiences, I think you want just as deeply as the rest of us to be cared for and to care for someone else. To be loved, and to love. But it's up to you if you're willing to take that chance or not. And there's—one last thing."

"Wha-"

Before he could finish his question, she'd grabbed his tie and pulled him the last few inches towards her, crashing their lips together. After a few moments, in which she was sure he was mostly shocked but sensed the slightest of his weight pushing back against her—she stepped back, her eyes staring back into his. "I'm not sorry for that one, or the ones that came before it. I don't regret a moment since you ran into me at the sea wall that day, Hardy. I never will. I'll never regret a moment I've spent knowing you. I only hope I'll get to keep getting to know and spending more of those moments with you. But, if you choose differently—just know—I don't regret it."

She released a deep breath and let go of his tie and his hand, turned on her heels and was to the door, hand on the knob, when she heard him speak quietly. "I don't…I don't regret a single moment I've spent with you, either, Alana."

She allowed the smallest of smiles to cross her face and turned slightly back towards him, enough for him to know she heard. "If that's true—well—as they say, the ball is in your court, Hardy. You know how to find me."

* * *

Alana felt as if she couldn't get into the fresh air outside the Wessex police department soon enough. She'd made a bold move confronting Alec Hardy the way she did, but her confidence was only partly real. She'd worked herself up for the moment and thought it had gone well. But how Hardy would act, she had no idea. She sat down on the steps just down the sidewalk from the station and took in a deep breath.

These were the same steps on which she'd had her second meeting with him. She remembered that moment—the moment she'd panicked over his job. And it was then she realized—It had been almost two weeks since they'd first met, a little over a week since they'd shared that kiss that sent him running. That kiss derailed the path her mind had been on for several years. She hadn't thought about her dead husband in almost a week. She'd been so busy worrying over, or enjoying the company of, Alec Hardy that she hadn't thought about the struggles of the past she'd left behind. And for the first time in a long time, she felt—peace.

Despite her concern over what choice Hardy would make, she felt a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her life really _could_ go on. She really _could_ find happiness beyond the tragedy that had marked her. Even if it wasn't with Alec Hardy—he'd been the catalyst to help her realize—her heart, it still functioned. Her life, it was more than what she'd lost. A wide grin came over her face.

"There's this barbecue tomorrow—"

Alana jumped at the voice behind her and she whipped around. There stood Hardy, still quite disheveled, and now with his hands in his pockets. "Hardy! You scared me."

"Sorry, I just—I was surprised to see you were still out here and thought I should probably invite you before I lost my courage."

"It's alright, I was just enjoying a bit of fresh air before the walk home. So—you were inviting me somewhere?"

"Miller—my partner—she's having this barbecue at her house tomorrow. She's threated to make my life a living hell if I don't show up. I thought—well, would you like to go with me?"

Alana stood up and dusted off her backside before stepping up to stand just a little closer to Hardy, peering at him carefully. "Are you inviting me to be your date to your partner's barbecue, or inviting me along as a friend?"

"Which answer is more likely to have you say yes?"

Her eyebrow raised. "So you just want me along as a crutch? Someone to hide behind and pretend to be sociable? I think not, Hardy." She started to turn away and he grabbed her arm.

"No, wait. I just mean—" He sighed and ran a hand over his face, other hand still absent-mindedly holding onto her arm. "I want to spend time with you. Would it be helpful to have you there with me if I have to endure it? Yes. But not as a crutch. Because I enjoy your company. Because I want to be with you…"

"As a…" her voice faded out, but her eyebrows remained raised, waiting on him to complete the sentence.

"Date…I want you there as my date. You said you thought it was time we stop denying our attraction to each other. So—that's what I'm doing. That's right, isn't it?"

She watched him carefully a moment before allowing another smile to cross her face. "You were listening. Very good. But it's only right if it's what you really want."

He sighed now—she could tell he was frustrated with having to be so emotionally transparent. "You think I'd have rushed down here to catch you if it wasn't what I really wanted?"

"Okay, okay—point taken." She glanced down at his hand that still held onto her arm and smiled as she looked back to his face. "Yes, Hardy—I'll go with you to the barbecue. What time?"

He frowned. "Not sure—I sort of drowned her out when she got to the details because I'd planned on coming up with an excuse as to why I couldn't go. I'll find out and let you know. She's going to go nutters when I tell her I'm bringing someone."

"Will you tell her who it is, or make her wait till we show up?"

"She'll probably hunt me down to interrogate me if I don't tell her straight away." She felt the slightest of movements from his hand as his thumb stroked her arm. "Are you—are you okay with that?"

"I'm not ashamed to be known as your date, if that's what you mean. If I had a problem with it, I wouldn't have shown up today."

His hand awkwardly slipped down to hers. She was amazed by his willingness to do such a think in public. She watched his face carefully as he looked down, scowling a bit as he considered his own thoughts and what he wanted to say. "I—I'm not going to change overnight, Alana. But—I'm willing to try."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "While I do see great potential in you, Hardy, I'm not attracted to you for that. Heaven help me, I like you for who you are today—grumpy, cynical, and socially awkward. But thank you, it means a lot to me that you'd say that."

"I—I just—I don't want to hurt you—"

"Shh, don't start that line of thinking again. Listen—we could stand here in the middle of public and chat all day long, but I think some things are better left in private, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. But I don't want to let you go, either."

She smiled. "You know, those moments of raw honest feelings only make me fall further for you, Hardy."

He smirked. "I suppose they're worth it then."

"Why don't you call me when you finish up here? Maybe we can spend some time together this evening?"

He nodded. "I'll see what I can find out about the barbecue tomorrow before I call."

"Sounds good." She squeezed his hand again, then released it. "See you later."

"Bye."


	6. Chapter 6

"Miller, I need to tell you something." Hardy spoke into his phone as he watched Alana walking away. She was already out of hearing distance, but he continued to watch as long as he could.

"Oh God, you're leaving, aren't you? You haven't been back that long, and you're leaving again."

"What?" he said, his attention momentarily distracted from Alana. "No, I'm not leaving. What on earth would make you think that?" He looked back up to just catch her turning a corner and walking out of sight.

"Well, I couldn't imagine what else you'd call about with that ominous tone. 'Miller, I need to tell you something,'" she imitated him.

He chose to ignore it and took a deep breath, knowing it was time he admit to the one other person he considered a friend exactly what had been going on the past few weeks. "Miller—you remember that American woman we saw out at the sea wall a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, the one with the tragic past. I remember her."

"Well—you see—she and I ran into each other that day—and again the next day. And we've spoken several times since then."

"Oh…" He waited for the other shoe to drop. "Oh, Hardy, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"We're, um—well, we're not quite sure what we are yet. But—I invited her to come with me to your barbecue tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Alright? It's more than alright! That's amazing, sir!"

"Miller!" he spat out. "Please, don't make a big deal out of this. Especially tomorrow." He sighed and tried to be a little more gentle. "Please."

There was silence on the line for a moment and he said a silent prayer. "Alright, Hardy—I'll behave. But—for what it's worth—I am happy for you."

"So, about the barbecue—what time does it start?"

"One o'clock."

"Alright, see you then, Miller."

"See you then, Hardy."

"Hello."

"Uh, hi—it's me."

He heard her chuckle on the other end of the phone line. "Hi, Hardy. Finished up work? Are you home?"

"I am."

"You talk with Miller?"

"I did."

"And?" He could hear impatience in her voice. He was being short—like he always was—and she was getting irritated.

"The barbecue starts at 1. Look, maybe this wasn't a good idea."

She was quiet a long moment. "Why do you say that?"

"You're already irritated with me and we've been on the phone less than two minutes."

"I just have to get used to the fact that you don't mince words, Hardy. Especially on the phone. That's all. And I'd assume your own nerves only make it worse."

"Make what worse?"

"Your inability to speak in long sentences or chain more than two sentences together at a time."

"It's possible."

"So why don't you come over. Or I can come there. Perhaps in-person communication would be better."

"I—I can come there."

"Alright, I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yes. Bye."

"Bye."

**—**—**

Barely ten minutes had gone by when he knocked on her door. She quietly allowed him in and closed the door behind him. Before she'd had the chance to say a word, he suddenly started speaking.

"Look—I'm sorry, I just—maybe you're right, maybe it is my nerves, maybe I'm—"

She sighed and grabbed his hand, gently pulling him closer, the motion causing him to stop talking. "Hardy, just breathe. Just relax. It's just you and me here. Come on, sit down with me."

He felt her thumb stroking his hand and it seemed to minutely ease his nerves. He allowed her to guide him to the couch—the same couch where they'd first kissed. After he sat down, she curled one leg under her to sit sideways facing him and leaned her head against her hand, her arm leaned on the back of the couch.

"Now, talk to me. Just talk. Tell me what you're thinking about right this moment."

His eyebrow raised and he turned to look at her. "You want to know what I'm thinking about right this moment?"

"Sure, maybe if you just get used to talking, even if it's about mundane things, it will help you get more comfortable with us talking with each other.

"This feels like some exercise at a therapist office."

"I swear, I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you, Hardy."

He sighed, swallowed slowly, and decided to allow himself the chance to do this. To just—talk—with someone. He leaned his head back to rest against the top of the couch cushion and his eyes seemed to naturally fall closed. "Right now—I'm thinking about how we first kissed—right here, on this couch. When I came to you after you told me about everything that had happened. I was so heart broken for you."

"You didn't seem to find it that difficult to talk to me before that happened."

He thought a moment. She was right. While he had still been awkward, they'd talked that first day on the sea wall, and on the phone…it was only once they'd kissed that his ability to communicate seemed to fly out the window. "You're right. I—I guess it is just nerves, maybe."

She reached over with her free hand and took hold of his. As soon as she did, his eyes opened and his head turned downward to stare at their hands, fingers intertwined.. "But—you're certain, this is what you want?"

He looked up from where he'd been staring for a moment at their hands and looked directly into her eyes. "Aye, I am."

She smiled. "Alright then. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What were you really thinking that first day we met out on the sea wall."

A small chuckle escaped. "I saw you, you know, before I ran into you. I mean, I didn't run into you on purpose. I saw you when you were still sitting on a bench down from where Miller and I were sitting."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. I asked her about you."

"Oh? What did she know?"

"Just that were an American who'd moved to Broadchurch. I thought you must be crazy to move here. As big a country as you came from…why'd you move here instead of some other place there?"

"When trying to run away, even as big a country as the United States seems too small, too constricting. Of course, it'll be a few years before I can make anything permanent."

"So you think you'll do that? Stay here?"

"Oh yes. I have no intention of leaving this place."

"You might change your mind—after putting up with me for a while."

She gave him a fond but sad look and reached up to cup his scruffy, bearded cheek. "Oh, Alec. You're so determined to believe that you're going to lose anything you hold too close, aren't you? Do you think so little of me as to think I'd walk away from you?"

He sighed and allowed himself to lean into her hand a moment, his eyes closed. "No, it's because I think so much of you that I worry you'll stay too long and be hurt by me. And then you'll have no where left to go but away, and the damage will be done."

"Wow, you are quite the downer, aren't you? Alec, I am a grown woman, here. I see you, I know who you are, and I know enough about your past. I'm making the decision to be by your side."

"I just don't want to hurt you."

She sighed in frustration and turned his face towards hers. His eyes flew open at the action and he found her staring at him. "Then don't. Alec, you are in control of your actions, your emotions, your attitudes. Perhaps you've allowed yourself to be this grumpy, cynical person for so long that you've forgotten that you can be something else."

"It's not as easy as flipping a switch."

"I know that," she stated. "We've already covered that ground, and I did say I cared just as much about you for who you are today as I will for the man you could potentially become. I don't expect you to change overnight. But I won't let you pretend you _can't_ change—that it is inevitable that you will hurt me. That's a load of crap, and I won't listen to it. Understood?"

He surprised her with a small smile. "Understood."

"What are you smiling at?"

"You. You are so fearless, and confident."

She snorted in laughter. "I don't know about that."

"Really? Need I repeat back the lashing you just gave me?"

"Need _I_ repeat back the moaning, groaning, and weeping I did not too long ago about my sad life?"

"That doesn't make you any less fearless, it just makes you human."


End file.
